


Helpless

by seven_seventy_seven



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Memory Loss, Ramsay is his own warning, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2523458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seven_seventy_seven/pseuds/seven_seventy_seven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My father took you in, to take care of you. And that’s when I first saw you, and I loved you, and I knew you were mine. I’m sure you can remember that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my second ever fic! Not beta'd, all mistakes my own. Tags and warnings may change as work progresses!

The house stood, brown and imposing, over an overgrown garden and weedy terrace. Theon sat chain smoking, looking up at its half shuttered windows, here and there a broken pane, paint peeling and wood rotting. 

He had lived here just over six months, spent hours wandering the garden, watching television in the sitting room, making ramen noodles and fish sticks in the kitchen. Ramsay came and went, sometimes gone for days, his red Honda motorcycle roaring up the winding roads that led away from the house, following the river that flowed to the sea. 

Theon was alone most of the time.

He had explored most of the house by now. Fading wallpaper and old knickknacks, dark wood furniture, and low ceilings, most of the rooms looked the same. Old framed photos of people he’d never met, people Ramsay didn’t even know. They had discovered the pulldown ladder that led to the attic was stuck, so Theon never ventured up there, not that he wanted to, even in his boredom. One room, Ramsay’s father’s old study, walls lined with antique swords and heavy tomes, made Theon uneasy, and he didn’t like to go in while Ramsay was away. 

The room they shared was on the second floor, in the east wing of the sprawling house. Ramsay had painted black over the floral wallpaper and put down shaggy green wall to wall in a frenzy of redecorating, before getting called away for a week by his father. Theon had half heartedly stuck up some rock posters on the wall over the record cabinets while he was gone. Theon liked to listen to his records while he was away, picking through Ramsay’s vinyl collection for something they both liked, laying on the carpet gazing at the ceiling.

It still stung when Ramsay went away, never telling him where he was going, let alone what he was doing. Ramsay always laughed and crushed him up against his chest, reminding Theon to be good and that he’d be back soon.

_“I’m doing this for you. So that I can take care of you. You know that.”_ Ramsay smiled down at him then, making Theon’s heart hurt, although he didn't know why. 

_“You could take me with you.”_ Theon’s words were muffled into Ramsay’s shoulder, tears springing to his eyes. _“I get so lonely here without you.”_

Ramsay pulled away, holding him at arm’s length. His eyes had gone dark and he looked hurt.

_“You know you can’t. You’re too weak still, after the accident. That’s why you’re here, with me.”_

_“Maybe someday? When I’m better.”_ Theon said hopefully, feeling so small in Ramsay’s strong arms.

_“Yes, when you’re better.”_ Ramsay’s icy eyes never left Theon’s. _“Just remember to take your medicine, and eat at least twice a day when I’m gone. I know how you are, don’t argue.”_ He pressed Theon back against his chest then, stroking his hair.

So he went away. And although the days stretched long and painful while he was gone, he always returned, sometimes with treats, like white powdered donuts, and the soda in glass bottles Theon liked, and always with cartons of cigarettes and bottles of prescriptions with blank labels for Theon.


	2. Two

Theon couldn’t remember the accident. He couldn’t remember much these days. He knew that was a side effect of the medicine he took to stop his crying fits and to help him sleep at night. He could tell when he’d gone too long without a pill by his trembling hands and cold sweats, mangled fingers fumbling with the safety cap.

When Ramsay was there, he’d take the bottle from Theon’s hands, counting out the pills and sorting them into piles for now and later.

When Ramsay was away, he always went too long between doses, as long as he could stand, rocking back and forth in his seat on the terrace, chain smoking the Marlboros Ramsay bought for them both.

The pills made him forget. But sometimes he wanted to remember. Remember the accident, and before the accident. Remember who he was before he came to this house. But that would mean remembering before Ramsay, before he took care of him. 

He knew he had a family, somehow, somewhere. A father, a mother, a sister and two brothers, both dead. He remembered angry words and violence from his father, sadness and confusion from his mother. That family had not been home for him, not for a long time.

He had had another family too, a big one, who took him in for a time, sisters and brothers, who had loved him, and then betrayed him. They couldn’t take care of him, and didn’t want to, not like Ramsay did.

Theon remembered pain, and a dark room. He remembered thirst, and hunger, and men who hurt him. He didn’t know why they hurt him, what he had done to deserve it.

When he tried to sort out his memories aloud, in bed with Ramsay, he had pulled him close into the crook of his arm to quiet him.

_“Shhh, darling. Those are just nightmares. You know what happened. How many times do I have to tell you?”_

Theon felt Ramsay’s lips in his hair, his fingers curling around his skinny hips and into the hollow of his spine. He nestled further into him, trembling.

_“Tell me again. Please.”_ Theon whispered weakly. He couldn’t parse truth from nightmares anymore, memories from dreams. Sometimes he felt blinded by rage, but at who or what he could not tell.

_“If it will make you happy…”_ But though his voice was soft, Ramsay sounded stern, a warning. 

_“My father found you, after the car accident. You and Robb Stark. Him dead, you in the hospital, broken arms and legs, hands crushed, cracked skull. The Starks didn’t want to take care of you, they thought it was your fault Robb was dead. He had been drinking, and they blamed it all on you. My father took you in, because you had no where to go and no one to love you. Remember?”_

He remembered Robb Stark, his bright smile. And Robb Stark’s father, Ned, stern and always disapproving of Theon. Fragments of memory, shattered now.

Ramsay took Theon’s slender hand in his, interlacing his large fingers where Theon had none. Ramsay kissed the spots tenderly where each finger had been.

_“My father took you in, to take care of you. And that’s when I first saw you, and I loved you, and I knew you were mine. I’m sure you can remember that.”_ Ramsay murmured thickly into his neck.

Theon did remember. Ramsay had overwhelmed him and coddled him right from the start. Theon had never felt so needed, so taken care of. Ramsay fed him, bathed him, helped him heal from the accident. Made sure he took his medicine and made sure he didn’t smoke too much. 

Ramsay had given him everything, asking nothing in return, even with Theon’s broken scarred body, and scrambled head. For the first time in his life, Theon’s every need was met, and he had someone to always be there for him. He didn’t need to work, or worry about money, food, or a place to stay.

Sometimes Theon thought he loved him more for all his weaknesses. And even the first time they fucked, Ramsay whispered all the right things, precious, lovely, darling, sweet one, soothing Theon through his fear, staring at him hungrily through the shaggy hair over his eyes as he moved over him, like Theon was something to be prized, making Theon’s breath hitch with a sob, at the feeling of being loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	3. Three

Theon flicked his cigarette ash onto the stone terrace, the low rumble of a motorcycle pulling into the driveway startling him from his reverie. 

Theon squinted up at Ramsay silhouetted in the afternoon sun, prying off his helmet and brushing the hair back from his eyes.

 _“Daddy’s home.”_ Ramsay laughed and leaned down to kiss Theon’s cheek. He flung himself into the patio chair, snatching the cigarette out of Theon’s hand and leaning back, taking a deep drag, eyes narrowing in the late afternoon sun. _“You miss me, darling?”_

 _“You know I always miss you.”_ Theon burst out. _“Don’t rub it in.”_

 _“Well I guess that means you don’t want your present…”_ Ramsay said flatly, flicking the spent butt into the weeds.

Theon looked away. _“I don’t want presents. I just want you here with me. You know that.”_

Ramsay stood, metal chair screeching on stone. _“If you can’t be grateful, then you’ll get nothing from me at all.”_

Theon heard the screen door slam. He lit another cigarette and watched the autumn leaves float over his head in the dying light.

Theon shivered. _I should go in. Ramsay’ll be hungry and I should have eaten by now._

Lights turned on one by one in the house, first the kitchen, then the dining room, then the dim light from the room they shared, black curtains drawn loosely over the window.

A pang of regret twisted in his chest. _He’s alone inside. I’ve missed him all week and now I’m the one staying away. What’s come over me?_

He knew Ramsay had to go away, his father demanded it. How many times had Ramsay reminded him of that? Theon scraped his chair back, desolation rising over him, _I hope he’s not angry. It’s gotten so dark…_

 _“Theon. Come inside.”_ Ramsay called to him from the kitchen door. He scrambled to obey, dried leaves crunching beneath his tennis shoes. 

_Thank the gods…_

Ramsay took Theon’s hand as they made their way into the warmly lit kitchen.

 _“I think I know what’s wrong.”_ Ramsay eyed him crookedly and smiled, jangling Theon’s pill bottle at him. _“How long has it been?”_

 _“Since… since this morning.”_ Theon avoided his eyes. He prayed Ramsay couldn’t tell he was lying. He hadn’t taken them today at all. _“I’ve been trying to go longer without them. You know, the nausea… it can be hard…”_

 _“You’ll feel so much better when you’ve taken them. Do as I say.”_ Ramsay pressed him, holding out the bottle and a glass of water. _“Would you like to see the Doctor? Perhaps he needs to adjust your dose again.”_

 _“It’s all right. I’ll take them now.” Not that doctor again._ When he first came here, Theon received a house call from the family doctor weekly. He could do without all the poking and prodding, the man speaking to Ramsay about Theon as if he wasn’t even there at all.

Ramsay smiled approvingly as Theon downed the pills in one gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most anticlimactic update ever? More coming at some point.


End file.
